


Something I'd Gladly Eat

by arituzz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, They're already adults don't fret, Watford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arituzz/pseuds/arituzz
Summary: The fact that Baz has just come from the catacombs doesn’t make him less hungry. Actually, he’s starving. But this sort of hunger has nothing to do with food.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "hungry", on tumblr

There are certain things at Watford that shouldn’t be allowed, Baz thinks. Like the merwolves. Or the Mage’s moustache. Or fucking boaters.

Or Simon Snow looking like _that_.

He’s just got out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel—thank Crowley for small mercies—hanging askew on Simon’s hips, leaving so little to the imagination from Baz’s sight on the bed. (Not that he’s staring, or anything.) He looks like he’s stepped straight out of a fucking porn movie, instead of the bathroom.

Snow stuffs a scone into his mouth, crumbs falling from the corners of his lips. (Trust Snow to have a reservoir of food to eat at 1 am on a Friday night.) His Adam’s Apple—double capital letter, because one alone isn’t enough to make it justice—bobs up and down his throat as he swallows. No bloody person should have the right to look like that.

Simon runs his free hand through his damp hair, making it even messier instead of flattening it. He catches Baz’s eye, like he’s just remembered he’s not alone in the room. “Oh. Hey,” he says, then points the cherry scone at Baz. “Want some?”

“Yeah, I want some,” Baz imagines himself saying. “Some Simon Snow, please. Hot and steamy.” But instead he says, “Fuck, no. That’s disgusting.” Just to mess with him.

The effect is immediate: furrowed brow, flared nostrils. Simon’s teeth between his lower lip. Yeah, he’d gladly eat that, too.

The fact that Baz has just come from the catacombs doesn’t make him less hungry. Actually, he’s starving. But this sort of hunger has nothing to do with food. Or blood.

 _“You_ are disgusting,” Simon says with his mouth full. (Of bile more than food.)

A surging tide of heat runs throughout Baz’s body in a mixture of anger and arousal. Okay, maybe it _has_ a little to do with blood, he admits. Fuck teenage hormones.

“And you’re annoying,” Baz spits back.

“Where have you been?” Simon demands, more than asks.

“None of your business,” he says, flatly.

“Have you been plotting?”

“Can’t you leave me alone for one single day?” Baz snaps, standing up and unconsciously drawing near Simon.

Baz feels Simon tensing beneath him. “Back off,” Simon breathes out.

“What if I don’t?” Baz argues, feeling his fangs already popping out.

Simon grabs Baz by the collar of his uniform shirt and pins him hard against the wall. Baz waits for Simon to punch him, ready to fight back. And then he remembers. The Roommates Anathema.

Simon seems to realise it too, because the blow never comes.

Simon’s eyes shift to Baz’s lower body, widening in surprise. Baz curses inwardly and mentally begs for Simon to ignore the obvious. “Baz, is that–”

Fuck.

“No,” he interjects. But it’s already too late to hide it.

To increase Baz’s agony, Simon moves his hip, slightly, making his hardness impossible to miss. “It is,” he states.

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” Simon consents, before he mercilessly rocks his hips against Baz’s. Baz swallows the embarrassing groan that tries to slip out, his palms sweaty against the wall.

Then Simon arches up again. And again. And just as Baz’s urge to moan Simon’s name becomes unbearable, Simon kisses him.

Simon’s tongue forces his way into Baz’s mouth, his grip still on Baz’s collar. Baz parts his lips in response, his hands finding his way up to Simon’s hair and tugging at it.

When he’s done fighting Baz’s tongue, Simon moves his mouth to the crook of Baz’s neck, as his hands unceremoniously unbutton Baz’s shirt. Baz leans into it, tilting his head back against the wall, breathing deeply as he lets Simon undress him.

“Snow,” Baz says in a low voice, a hand on Simon’s bare chest. “Where’s your cross?”

“Oh. Left it in the bathroom,” he says. Then adds, “Fuck. Should I go for it?”

Baz inhales deeply before answering, “No.”

Simon nods his head lightly, locking eyes with Baz. “Okay.”

Baz seeks for Simon’s mouth again, devouring it, sliding his tongue past Simon’s lips, where he wants to stay for the rest of forever.

Simon finishes undressing him. His hand touches the sensitive skin of Baz’s upper thigh and Baz bites his lip, pretending he doesn’t love that, that it doesn’t drive him insane. But spectacularly failing at it.

Baz’s fingers reach the hem of Simon’s towel, venturing his way under. But Simon grabs his arms, fiercely, and pins his wrists above his head, holding them in place with one hand. Baz doesn’t resist. He’d do anything for Simon to touch him again. He’d do anything for Simon, period.

With his free hand, Simon pulls at the towel, letting it fall on the floor. Simon takes them both with his hand, sliding it up and down. “Do you like this?” He asks, panting against Baz’s lips.

Baz is whimpering under Simon’s grip, and Simon’s movements are murdering all his coherent thoughts, one at a time. “Yes,” he breathes out.

Simon quickens the pace, and it feels like he’s about to go nova at any moment. He makes Baz feel like _he_ himself could go nova at any moment.

“Simon–” Baz breaks the kiss and takes a moment to look at Simon, his naked body nothing short of amazing.

But the real eroticism of Simon Snow is, like the devil himself, in the details – the moles on his right cheek hiding in a bath of red skin, blue eyes heavy with lust, bronze curls tangled between Baz’s dark fingers, lips parted in invitation. Which Baz eagerly accepts.

Fucking delicious.

A low groan escapes Simon’s throat, making Baz go over the edge. Simon kisses Baz’s lips, softly this time, as they both come undone.

Baz loses himself in it, wishing this was just the beginning and not the end.

After spelling their mess clean, they collapse on Baz’s bed, Simon on top of him. Baz wraps an arm around Simon’s shoulders, his other hand settling on Simon’s hair.

“I could have bitten you,” he says after some minutes.

“You didn’t,” Simon says, resting his head on Baz’s chest.

“How did you know i wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t,” Simon shrugs.

“You’re an idiot,” Baz says, stroking Simon’s curls.

Simon murmurs lazily in protest.

“Baz.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you regret this in the morning?”

“Not if we sleep in until the afternoon.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Baz keeps stroking Simon’s hair until they slowly drift into sleep.

-FIN-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
